Dilemma of a Sensitive Nature
by LTP-girl
Summary: A more compassionate side of Mike is unveiled when he converses with Connie about something that has been bothering him.
1. Chapter 1

**Just something different I thought of, and is kind of an experiment. Explores a scenario where in which Mike get's too involved in a case, and **_**it's people! **_

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of 'Law and Order'.

Category: Connie/Mike friendship

Rating: T, for adult themes.

Mike's Dilemma

By LTP-girl

Mike paced around the room, his hands on his hips.

"I happened to bump into her after the trial, and we got talking," he explained to Connie.

He stood still for a moment.

Connie sat at her desk, listening with undivided attention, her eyes turning soft yet concerned, as Mike continued his story.

He cleared his throat nervously. "So, I offered her a place to stay," he confessed, staring down at the ground with embarrassment, avoiding direct eye contact.

He couldn't believe he was telling Connie, of all people, about his little endeavour.

Connie nodded understandingly, continuing to listen, her expression without judgement.

"I thought it would be the decent thing to do," he said, gesturing with his hand, his other remaining on his hip. "The _right_ thing to do."

He carried on. "I couldn't just leave her to go back to her dorm on a Friday night, with all that rowdiness, drugs and booze, and God knows what else," he reasoned. "And I_ certainly_ couldn't let her stay at her family home, where the murder had taken place." He paused for a moment. "I also felt that she needed someone to be there for her, and since she had nobody else... I thought I had better step in."

"Of course," Connie agreed reassuringly.

Mike sighed exasperated. "I offered her my bed, but she insisted she sleep on the couch, so I made her a deal and set up the sofa bed for her." He leaned against the rounded table in the middle of the room, next to her desk. He swallowed. "She stayed for few nights, which was completely okay. But the other night, I woke up at about three, with her lying next to me."

Connie raised an eyebrow. "Did you sleep with her? I mean... _you know_."

"No, of course not," he retorted quickly. "She must have sneaked in."

"Yes, she must have done."

"I went back to sleep, trying not to disturb her, not wanting her to feel uncomfortable or anything like that, especially with all that had happened," he stated, sliding his hands into his jacket pockets. "I woke up later that morning, and she had returned to the sofa bed."

Connie nodded, resting her head in her hand.

_Poor Mike's got a dilemma, and he wants me to help him fix it, _Connie thought to herself, with a hint of sarcasm. _No surprises there._

"I need to tread carefully now. I can't tell her to leave just like that, and I can't really confront her about this. She's too vulnerable at the moment."

Connie sighed. "I know, but you're going to have to let her go sooner or later," she sighed, indecisive. "I know she has nobody to turn to. But you've done enough for her. _We've_ done enough for her. I know we didn't get a guilty verdict, but we tried our best, Mike. That's all we can do."

Mike's face suddenly appeared drawn. "I walked into the kitchen this morning to find her dressed in one of my shirts, making pan-cakes," he explained, a look of perplexity entering his eyes. "She smiled at me, said good morning, and then she said how contented she was that she had found someone like me, and how happy she was that we were starting our lives together."

"Well, I'm sure there are a lot of things going through this young woman's mind at the moment, especially having both parents killed," Connie tried to justify. "And now with that perpetrator getting off scot-free, you can't expect her to _not_ act out in certain, unpredictable ways." She sighed again, a little frustrated. "But she's going to have to learn to rely on herself a bit more. Seek help from other sources."

Mike pondered for a moment. "I never intended on this to happen, I don't even know how she could have gotten the idea. All I did was offer her a place to stay, to grieve, to get away from all of this nastiness for a while. How can I make it clear to her that it's not the right thing for us to be doing?"

Connie looked up at him wearily. "You'll just have to do it the hard way," she replied truthfully. "Just do what you do in court. Use that cold exterior of yours, and make it clear to her that you are in no way interested in forming a relationship with her, romantic or otherwise, and that her behaviour is unacceptable."

Mike shook his head disbelieving.

He could never do something like that to her.

**What y'all think? Feel free to review.**


	2. Chapter 2

**It's Mike's moment of truth. How will he get into this girl's head that they cannot be together? (Contains brief reference to George Haung). Enjoy!**

Disclaimer: I do not own 'Law and Order' or 'Law and Order SVU' and its characters. Roberta is mine.

**That night, Mike's place.**

Mike opened the door to his apartment, the welcoming aroma of pesto gnocchi filling his nose.

He entered through the doorway, placing his briefcase on the floor beside the door as he did so, before removing his coat and scarf and placing them on the coat-rack.

He made his way into the lounge room, becoming slightly overwhelmed by the atmosphere of his apartment. It felt different. Something had changed. He stood with his hands in his pants pockets, perplexed to find boxes and suitcases placed all over the room.

_God, she's moved in. How am I going to get out of this now?_

His thoughts had been interrupted by the sound of clattering cooking utensils in the kitchen.

He waltzed down the hall to the kitchen, the scents and sounds intensifying.

He stood in the doorway, and leaned against the wooden panelling.

A young woman standing over the stove, stirring a simmering pot, smiled up at him, noticing his sudden presence.

"Oh, I didn't hear you come home," the young woman said spritely as she approached him.

She held him close in a tender embrace, before planting a slightly wet kiss on his cheek.

He returned the gesture stiffly, slightly begrudgingly, his eyelids fluttering in discomfort as he did so. He discreetly wiped the saliva off his cheek with his sleeve.

She pulled away, noticing his rigidity.

"Something wrong?" she asked concerned, her head slightly tilting to the side.

He sighed exasperated, his mouth forming into a tight smile. "Just a tough day at work, Roberta," he replied quietly, holding his tongue. He stared down at the floor, his hands behind his back.

He was tired, and just wanted to get this over and done with before he went to bed.

Frustration had filled his mind, and it was evident with the creased lines of his forehead that had briefly emerged. He thought about what Connie had told him earlier about upholding his famous Cutter-cold -exterior. He wanted to tell this Roberta to get her things, leave his apartment, and get the hell out of his life. But he couldn't, not after all that she had been through, not with all the intrusion of reporters and cross examiners she had dealt with the past week. His face suddenly turned soft, his eyes harbouring sorrow for the young woman who had lost everything near and dear to her.

"Well, it's good that I prepared us dinner then, isn't it?" She said, trying to cheer him up, noticing the dead-pan in his voice. She rubbed his arm encouragingly. "I looked up this Italian recipe I thought I'd try, because I know you're vegetarian..."

He glanced over at his chrome table, which was placed to the side of the room. He hardly recognised it, now dressed so elegantly, decorated with lit candles and a vase of flowers, and a bottle of Valpolicella wine in the centre, with cutlery and plates placed at each end. It was usually covered in paperwork.

His eyes glanced back at her.

"You really didn't have to," he said simply, cutting her off. He slid his hands into his jacket pockets.

She shrugged. "I only had one class today, so I had time. And I wanted to," she replied. "You've taken care of me, now it's my turn to look after you. You work so hard, I thought it would be nice for you to have dinner ready when you came home."

He smiled at her faintly, not sure how to respond.

Well, he had to admit, it felt good returning home to his apartment to a home cooked meal.

"I'm about to dish up," she informed him, returning to the boiling pot on the stove. "Take a seat."

He loosened his tie and undid his top button. "Alright," he agreed, nodding.

He approached the chair at the end of the table, and removed his jacket, draping it around the back of the chair. He took a seat, and rolled his sleeves to his elbows.

"I like that suit on you," she commented, briefly glancing over at him, as she spooned the steaming pasta into two bowls.

He was wearing the charcoal-grey suit with matching vest.

He looked down at what he was wearing. He was surprised by her comment, considering that these days he didn't really think about what he put on in the morning.

"Thank you," he replied, his sorrowful expression still remaining.

She placed a full bowl on the table in front of him.

***

Kelly cleared the table, and made her way to the kitchen sink.

"That was... well, nice," Mike said, struggling for conversation.

He was trying to think of a way to break it to Kelly that he had no intention of engaging in a relationship with her.

"Thank you," she replied smiling up at him, as she rinsed the dishes. "It's my grandmother's recipe. She told me that Valpolicella goes quite nicely with pesto gnocchi, so I decided to serve that with it. Nona Rosa grew up in Veneto, where this particular wine was originally created, so she knows all about it. "

Mike took a whiff of the deep red liquid that remained in his glass, the scent of dark cherry and fruity spices filling his senses.

"Oh yes," he agreed. "Valpolicella is made from the _Corvina grape_, am I right?"

"Yes," Roberta answered surprised. "How did you know?" She paused. "No offence, but you don't really come across as someone who knows a lot about wines."

Mike chuckled to himself. "I worked at a wine shop while I was in law school," he answered.

"_Enoteca_," Roberta replied, slightly correcting. "That's the Italian word for _wine-shop_, or _wine-repository, _to be precise."

Mike nodded, smiling down at the table.

_What was he doing? He was supposed to be getting this girl out of his life, not further encouraging her. The wine must have really gone to his head._

He put the half empty wine glass to the side, and he stood from his chair.

His face turned serious.

The first thing he could think of to say to Roberta _was we need to talk_, but he always hated that expression. They were the first words his mother used when he was ten-years-old, to introduce to him the fact that she and his father were getting a divorce.

He put his hands on his hips. "Um, this is a really nice gesture, Roberta," Mike said gently. "But um... I think... we um, should talk for a moment."

Roberta looked up at him from the counter. "Oh, okay," she replied.

Mike led her into the lounge, and took a seat on the firm couch in front of the wall.

Roberta joined him, plonking herself into his lap.

He shuddered in face of her touch. He was well aware of her fragile mind, and he was very cautious not to take advantage of her vulnerability.

She began combing her fingers through his soft grey-speckled hair.

"You have really nice eyes," she murmured seductively into his ear, and her breath distinctly smelling of alcohol.

Mike was feeling quite overwhelmed by her approach, and pushed her gently off his lap.

"I'm sorry Roberta, but you have the wrong idea," he confronted.

A bewildered expression spread across her face as she settled herself down beside him. "I'm sorry, was I moving too fast?"

Mike looked away from her. "Yes, you could say that," Mike nodded, surprised by her remark.

She looked down at her feet.

Mike turned to face her. "Look, I don't know how you got it into your head that we even got together. All I did was offer you a place to stay," he pointed out, gesturing with his hand. "But to you, for some reason, that means we're suddenly in a relationship."

Hurt filled her hazel eyes, tears beginning to well.

Mike knew he had hit a nerve deep inside her, and he didn't intend to come across as so abrasive, but he had to do what was right for himself and his job, as well as Roberta.

"It wouldn't be ethical for us to peruse a relationship," he reasoned seriously. "Given our history, me being the prosecutor of the man who killed your parents, it goes against my professional-client morale, us dating each other. I do not engage in relationships of a romantic nature with the people I work with, colleagues, and that goes for any other people directly linked to a case."

"But I thought your work on the case was finished," she protested.

"What if the case was to reopen?" Mike justified. "People in my position are meant to be smarter than that."

She looked down at the floor. "I see," she replied quietly. "I should have never have assumed, I suppose."

"No," he said simply.

She swallowed, a lump forming in her throat as she held back tears.

He rested a gentle hand on her arm. "I don't mean to be discouraging," he assured her. "It's just that it wouldn't be right, us being together."

Mike didn't think he was handling the confrontation particularly well. What did he know about soothing the human psych? He could have really done with the help of a certain psychiatrist he knew from the Special Victims Unit, Dr George Haung. He'd be in his element.

"I'm forty-five, you're almost twenty, and that's _huge_ generation gap. Do you know how much gossip that would stir at the DA's office?" he continued to reason. "Besides, I'm hardly ever home. Except for college, what else are you going to all day without me here?"

Roberta felt such an idiot. Here she was thinking she had a chance with this established, compassionate, and not mention extremely attractive, attorney. She felt her stomach drop when she discovered he was more than twice her age.

"I didn't want your money or anything like that," she quickly retorted. "I have power of attorney from my parents' death, and they've left me everything. So I don't need any help in that area."

"I know that, and I never suspected you wanted any money from me," Mike replied softly. "But you do need someone to be there for you, don't you? Emotionally?"

She nodded solemnly, her eyes appearing distant.

"I'm afraid that person can't be me," Mike said honestly. "You'll have to find someone else. I've given you a place to recover, and now I think it's time we moved on."

She stood up from the couch. "There are some things I have to organise anyway," she said. "The funeral and all of that. I also need to sort through some of my parents' things, and see what to get rid of, and what to keep."

Mike nodded understanding.

"So I guess I should get my things and just go," she addressed.

Mike sighed. "I think that would be for the best," he agreed, as he stood up.

Roberta exited the room briskly her hands in her jeans pockets.

Mike stood, simply watching, his eyes following her as she left.

Il fino.

**Please review. Let me know your thoughts on how Mike handled this situation! **


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